


Dissolve

by ivorydice



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Violence, Captivity, Corpses, Cutting, Electrocution, Forced Bathing, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Isolation, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Strangulation, Torture, Trauma, forced bed sharing, non-consensual undressing, some slight gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15776319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/pseuds/ivorydice
Summary: Someone had to be looking for him by now. He was the damn prince of Lucis, he had so many people keeping tabs on him at any given moment. So it was bound to have been enough time for someone to have noticed that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.Abducted off the streets of Insomnia, Noctis is subjected to isolation, torture, and a deadly psychological game at Ardyn's hands.





	Dissolve

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic has been a long time coming.
> 
> And I mean a _long_ time lol, this was first planned and started way back last year. Thanks to Ardynoct Week, I've recently picked it back up again, and now here we are.
> 
> I'm actually close to finishing this one, so I'm hoping updates won't take an absolute age to occur. The way it's going, I'm predicting 4 chapters of the story, and then a 5th chapter as a sort of smaller companion chapter/kind of epilogue and told from another POV. Ah, you'll see lol.
> 
> **If you haven't checked out the tags yet, I suggest you do so now.** Some tags aren't seen until later, and I'm probably going to add a few more. If you feel like I've misrated this fic or missed out some tags, then feel free to let me know!
> 
> I'd just like to note, for any concerned, despite some of the tags and the sort of touchy-feely way Ardyn behaves in this fic, there is nothing sexual ahead whatsoever.
> 
> Okay, I think that's everything lol. Enjoy!

  
  
He woke up in darkness.  
  
It was a little jarring and disorienting, blinking awake like he had been unconscious for hours. His head felt fuzzy and strange, heavy even, as if he’d hit it, but there was no obvious injury when he ran a hand through his hair to check for one.  
  
The stone was cold and rough beneath his cheek, so Noctis gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, groaning at the stiffness in his limbs. What was going on? How had he ended up like this? He tried to think back, tried to remember how he got here. His head was mostly a blur and it was hard to concentrate, but he thought he could recall—he’d just been with Prompto, hadn’t he?  
  
Yeah, that sounded right. He had been with Prompto. They had spent the whole day together and had just walked their separate ways to head on home. He could remember turning onto a quieter road, like he usually did, heading away from the busy streets and the heavy traffic. And then—  
  
And then nothing. There one minute, here the next. It was almost like there was no transition, although he knew there must have been, and the gap in his memory was more than worrying.  
  
“Hello?” Noctis called out, and then instantly cringed back from the sound of his own voice, painfully loud in the heavy silence. Just hearing it already made him feel so terribly alone. His voice didn’t echo, didn’t bounce back at him. With the sheer black in front of his eyes, it was like being in a void, everything else in existence wiped away. Erased as if it was nothing.  
  
When he got up, he traced his fingers along the cold walls, tried to make a mental map of where he was. It seemed to be a room, with the way the walls joined together. Halfway around it, he found a door. Cold, pure steel, heavy and stuck in place. No handle or lock to be found, no opening to peer through. It wouldn’t budge no matter how many times he pushed, not even when he started hitting and kicking it. He threw his body weight into it, but only resulted in hurting his shoulder.  
  
Noctis cursed. Years of training with Gladio in weaponry and close combat, all kinds of self defense to fall back on, but that knowledge turned into something completely useless when he didn’t have a weapon on him nor an actual enemy to fight. He flexed his fingers, attempted to reach into the armoury like he had practised so many times before, tried to grab something that would help him now.  
  
He couldn’t do it.  
  
His blood ran cold. Whether it was down to the fuzziness in his head or something else, he couldn’t use his magic. It probably shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. His magic training had been coming along slowly, at a snail’s pace, and he still had a lot to learn, but he had finally reached a point where he could use it more often than not.  
  
But now? There was nothing. It was as if it had all vanished or had been ripped away from him. All of that progress for nothing. It was horribly disappointing.  
  
It wasn’t a big room, he discovered. Small enough to feel cold and suffocating. Big enough for the darkness to feel like it had things lurking in there with him.  
  
Big enough to feel lonely in.  
  
He had the terrifying feeling that he was being watched, but with the darkness as thick and impenetrable as it was, he had no idea where he was being watched from.  
  
It was a horrible feeling. Like there were eyes all around him, surrounding him from every inch of the room, even as he backed himself up into a corner and stayed there for a long time.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
The thing about being locked away in the dark was that it was a little _too_ easy to go stir crazy. With no signs of anyone coming to see him, with no way of knowing how much time passed, and the only noises being the ones that he made himself, it played hell on his senses. It made him feel disoriented, a little jumpy maybe.  
  
He seemed to spend hours feeling along the walls, hoping to find some sort of crack or an opening, anything other than smooth, cold concrete. A window maybe, or a vent. There had to be something the air was coming in through, right? He refused to believe he had been shut in a completely sealed room and left there to suffocate on a lack of fresh oxygen.  
  
So he searched for an opening, feeling ridiculous every time he jumped up and down to try and reach higher up along the walls. He still wasn’t sure if anyone could actually see him in here, and he dreaded the idea of someone sitting back and watching him act like a desperate idiot, laughing at him the whole time.  
  
He _did_ find a vent. It was a small thing, down near the floor, barred over with gaps barely big enough to fit his forearm through. Judging by the size of the whole thing, if he did manage to pull the bars off somehow, he would barely even be able to get his shoulder inside.  
  
It was easy to get angry then, to bite out annoyed curses and kick at the bars, but he quickly jumped back after, covering his face with his hands. Any noise sounded like a gunshot in this room, too loud, too overwhelming. He hated it, hated those little jolts of surprise that left cold shivers across his skin; but he hated drowning in the silence too.  
  
Why? Why was he here? What was going on? Why hadn’t anyone come to get him yet? Surely someone had to be coming for him soon.  
  
There was nothing else that could help him. Nothing in this room, nothing in his pockets. He had no phone. Of course he didn’t, that would have been smashed up straight away. His apartment keys were gone. So was his wallet. The only things he had left were the clothes he was wearing.  
  
He also had no food.  
  
His stomach was already feeling a little strange. Empty, rumbling. He hugged his arms around his middle and felt embarrassed and miserable whenever his stomach growled, but at least he was alone, at least he had no one around to hear it.  
  
Someone had to be coming soon. Considering he had no water either, it would be a stupid move, to kidnap him - if that's what this was - only to have him die of dehydration within a few days of captivity.  
  
He dreaded the idea that it might end up like that anyway.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
He probably should have been ashamed at how easy it was to give up on trying to find a way out, but there was simply nothing he could do. The vent was too small, the door was too heavy. He had searched every inch of this room, including the floor, but there was nothing he could use to help him. He couldn’t access his magic or his weapons and there was only so much he could do with his fists.  
  
What else was there to do but wait and hope that someone would eventually come for him?  
  
He wondered who it would be. Would it be his captor, whoever had brought him here? What would they say when they arrived? What would they do? What was this even _about_?  
  
Or—what if this was a test? What if Gladio or Cor or _someone_ \- _everyone_ \- in the Crownsguard had arranged this entire thing, had hidden him away to test his abilities and his competence? What if this entire thing was just some fucking _test_ and he was _failing_ it?  
  
He could see it now, and felt a strange sort of anger at the idea. Gladio showing up on the final day, when he was too dehydrated and starved and stir crazy to do anything. Rolling his eyes at how much of a wimp Noctis was, how easily he had given up. Lecturing him on how he should have done something else, something _totally obvious_ , to get out of this stupid trap of theirs. Disappointed he couldn’t do better.  
  
Cor would be disappointed too. No doubt there would be long talks about how a prince - a _king_ \- should never stop fighting, should never give up no matter how hopeless the situation seemed, should always try and devise a new plan when the old one failed.  
  
Yeah, well _fuck them_. He had nothing. He had done everything he _could_ do and he had nothing left.  
  
Logically, he _knew_ they weren’t the ones behind this. They wouldn’t let it get this far, they wouldn’t let him get sick just to prove a point. No lesson was worth a risk to his health. But it was that niggling little idea that they _could_ be his captors, that this could be a potential test he was supposed to solve. It wouldn’t leave him alone and it was driving him insane.  
  
But it wasn’t as if there weren’t other possibilities. Niflheim, maybe? Rebels of the Crown? Angry refugees? Some random serial killer? He wondered how much thought his captor had put into all of this, if there was more to it than simply this room, this darkness, or if he really had just been left here to die and rot away.  
  
Although if it wasn’t actually one of his own behind this, then someone had to be looking for him by now. He was the damn _prince_ of Lucis, he had so many people keeping tabs on him at any given moment. So it was bound to have been enough time for someone to have noticed that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.  
  
Right? How long had it even _been_? Hours? Days?  
  
Someone must have realised he was gone by now, and then they would come looking for him. He just had to hold on for a while longer.  
  
Right. A little hard to keep that hope up when the silence continued, when the darkness surrounded him and everything remained so still and oppressive.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
When he couldn’t take the quiet and the stillness any longer, he spent his time pacing the room, humming and talking to himself just so that he could hear a voice, _any_ voice. Just so he wouldn’t feel so damn alone.  
  
Except he was alone, because it was his voice and no one else’s. It seemed like it would never be anyone else’s ever again.  
  
And so it continued. He slept on the floor, curled up on himself with his arms wrapped around his stomach, rubbing his hands up and down his skin to try and get some warmth. It had been a mistake not wearing a jacket, but it had been a warm day and he and Prompto had spent most of it indoors anyway, in arcades and in malls, and so there hadn’t been any need for a jacket at the time.  
  
If he had known he was going to get kidnapped and shoved into a dark room, well then he would have worn the fucking thing.  
  
He chose to sleep away the time, because it was the easiest way to deal with it all. He could ignore the hunger then, he could ignore the way he already felt lightheaded and weaker, the way his mouth and lips were dry.  
  
Most importantly, he could ignore the silence.  
  
At least there were people in his dreams. At least he could be in other places, with his friends, with his dad, with _anyone_.  
  
He was so, so cold and so hungry, and he felt dirty already. His clothes needed changing and his hair needed washing, but did any of it really matter if there was no one to see him like this?  
  
He could bear it. He had to. It was only a matter of time until that door opened.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
He tried to hold it off for as long as possible, but when he needed to go to the bathroom he did it in the corner furthest away from where he liked to stay, his face burning in humiliation the whole time.  
  
It was one of the last straws.  
  
Afterwards, he screamed his frustrations out as he kicked the metal door again and again, but no one answered. No one came to punish him or shame him. No one came to tell him to shut up.  
  
He only resulted in wearing himself out even further, dizziness taking over until he nearly collapsed face first into the metal.  
  
Fuck them. Whoever was behind this, fuck them.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
He saw bugs. Crawling and scuttling along the floor and up the walls in huge clusters, like a whole stream of critters, and Noctis shivered uncontrollably, not wanting to see them but unable to move his eyes away.  
  
He had thought they were real at first, until he saw the cat in the room with him, chasing the bugs down, its paws smacking against the walls where they crawled. He had thought _that_ was real too, that they had all entered the room through the vent. The cat certainly looked real enough, sounded real when it made its little mewling noises, but it disappeared whenever he went to touch it, whenever he got too close. The same went for the bugs. Then they would all slide back into existence when he sat in his corner.  
  
There was a man in the room with him too. A dark figure with no distinguishable features, he just stood there in the other corner of the room. Staring at Noctis. Waiting.  
  
“Stop that,” Noctis muttered eventually. When the figure didn’t do anything to go away, Noctis scrambled to his feet and rushed at it, throwing a punch and yelling, “I said fucking stop it!”  
  
He went right through the figure, slamming into the door instead, his fist colliding with the metal. He breathed out slowly through his nose before silently stumbling back to his corner. He slid down to the floor and leaned into the wall.  
  
They went away eventually, the bugs, the cat, and the man. As if they had grown bored of him and didn’t want to hang around any longer. He was left to his own thoughts once more, and he couldn’t decide which was worse; being completely alone or imagining things so that he would have _something_ to keep him company.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
He had no idea when fitful bouts of sleep seemed to turn into plain bouts of unconsciousness, but something had changed along the way. He constantly felt tired and dizzy now, even while he was laying down, the world tilting and swaying like a ship on the waves. His mouth was so painfully dry it felt like it was cracking apart with every movement. His heartbeat was too loud in his ears, fast and pounding away, pounding, pounding, pounding.  
  
He wished it would shut up.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
He thought he heard screaming echoing from a distance. A pained and anguished sound. It made him shudder, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or if it was just in his head.  
  
It ended quickly enough, so he didn’t have time to figure it out anyway.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
A sound. Metal. Squeaking. Footsteps, heavy and firm, coming closer.  
  
Noctis would have opened his eyes if he could. He would have moved if he could, but he was too exhausted, always on the brink of unconsciousness and, really, what was the point in opening his eyes when he would only be met with more darkness?  
  
It probably wasn’t real anyway. Those cold fingers brushing across his cheek, along his hair. It was just his brain coming up with more things to torment him with. Or it was just his dreams again, pulling him under, embracing him once more.  
  
Nothing had changed. He was still all alone.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
When he woke again, he was somewhere else. He wasn’t sure how he knew exactly; everything was still so dark, an entire void before him, but something about the air felt different. As if the room was bigger, colder even.  
  
He was lying on something other than a stone floor. It felt more like a bed, too firm to really be comfortable. His hands seemed to be strapped down to it, resting loosely on either side of his hips, held down by the wrists. His legs, however, were free, although slow to respond when he tried moving them.  
  
There was something in his arm. He could feel it when he wriggled his left wrist, something sharp and tugging at the skin under the crook of his elbow.  
  
When he licked his lips and opened his mouth, they didn’t feel dry or cracked anymore. He didn’t feel thirsty or hungry or dizzy. He didn’t feel like he was seconds away from blacking out from the lack of sustenance his body needed. He must have been rehydrated somehow while he was unconscious.  
  
Noctis ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Hello?” he tried to call out, tried to shout, but it was more of a croak than anything else. A rasp, broken and barely audible. “Anyone there?”  
  
No answer.  
  
He sighed and turned his head, trying to pretend that there wasn’t a crushing sense of hopelessness weighing on his chest. He was tired of being in the dark. Tired of the silence that always answered him. Someone had obviously moved him from that small room, but where were they now? Had they abandoned him again? Was it just going to be more of the same?  
  
Maybe he was blind. Maybe that was why he couldn’t see anymore. Maybe he kept waking up at the wrong times, at the moment when everyone else had left, and that was why it felt so lonely.  
  
Maybe he was in a coma. Maybe he had been hit by a car while he had been walking home, and now he was stuck _here_ , in this endless dark, waiting to wake up.  
  
Maybe he was dead.  
  
He was just so tired of this. He wanted it to stop.  
  
He wanted to go home.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
Noctis held still, staring up into the darkness. He kept his hands loose at his sides, where they were still strapped to the bed, and he forced himself not to move.  
  
There was someone in the room with him.  
  
It was worse than before. While that dark figure from before had been unnerving to have around, at least he had been able to see it. At least he hadn’t been strapped down to a bed, vulnerable and unable to do anything.  
  
This one—he couldn’t see anything in that direction, but he knew there was someone there. It felt like eyes were boring into him, but without being able to see the person himself then he had no idea. He could hear them, however. The slightest rustling of clothes, small clicking noises, the quietest breathing.  
  
A thought hit him then; what if it was a real person and that was why he couldn’t see them?  
  
Noctis didn’t dare move, he didn’t dare make a sound. He struggled to keep his breathing even, to focus past the way his heart was pounding so loudly, the way it wanted to burst out of his chest.  
  
If that _was_ a real person, then what were they doing there? What did they want? Why weren’t they moving or saying anything?  
  
He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want the answers.  
  
But he did, he _did_. He wanted to know what the _fuck_ they wanted, what this whole game was about. Was this just another test? Another way to mess with him?  
  
He wished he could sleep it away. Just turn his face away, close his eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening, but instincts wouldn’t let him.  
  
A sigh. It almost sounded frustrated. More rustling of clothes. And then footsteps. Coming closer towards him, the person was coming _towards_ him. They stopped beside the bed. Noctis clenched his jaw and stared upwards, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes darted around a little, the way his lips parted on a small breath.  
  
A flash of white and Noctis grimaced, letting out a hiss, nearly _blinded_ by it. “What the fuck?” he croaked out.  
  
“Now, now,” a voice said. Male, deep and a little croaky. “Mind your language.”  
  
Noctis hesitated, so surprised to hear another person’s voice that he didn't know what to do for a moment. He could only stare in that direction, wondering if this was real or just another hallucination, wondering if his time alone in the darkness had actually driven him crazy.  
  
Another flash, and Noctis groaned, shutting his eyes again. It was so _bright_ , like an explosion, and it was worse than the darkness because it didn’t do anything to help him see. Instead, he was left with colours burned into the backs of his eyelids, his head swimming with it all, disorientation settling in. He tugged at the cuffs around his wrists, frustrated, and tried thrashing against the bed.  
  
“Who are you?” he called out, then looked away again when there was another white flash. It lit up his surroundings for a moment, gave him a glimpse of the room he was in, showed him that there really _was_ a world behind the darkness. But it was only brief, a mere second, and it was hard to take in any of the details.  
  
Noctis let out an annoyed huffed. “What do you _want_?”  
  
No answer.  
  
Another flash. Noctis kept his head turned away, looking around as quickly as he could. He saw his arm, strapped down by a thick material cuff to what seemed to be a hospital bed. He saw a needle pressed into his skin on the inside of his forearm, a tube extending from it and curling down beside the bed, connecting to a bag hanging from an IV stand.  
  
Another flash and he could see the concrete walls, the almost dilapidated state the room was in. It looked abandoned, but where were there abandoned buildings in Insomnia? He was under the impression they were always reused for something; nothing was ever scrapped or left to collect dust. With the limits of the Wall, they had no choice in that matter.  
  
He wondered what the flashes were for. The way they flickered, the way they were pointed towards him, it reminded him of Prompto and his camera, the way the flash would go off whenever he would take a picture in darker places—  
  
Pictures. This man was taking pictures of him.  
  
The idea made him anxious, it made him _angry_ , his heart hammering in his chest. He waited until the next flash went by before he thrashed on the bed again, twisting his body around and swinging his leg out. His sneaker connected with something solid, knocking it back and away from him.  
  
A slight pause, then a chuckle.  
  
Then a hand was wrapping around his throat, slamming him back down onto the bed, keeping him in place. Something loomed over him, an overwhelming presence, breath on his cheeks, and Noctis could only stare up into the darkness. It made him shiver to know that there was actually someone _right there_ staring back at him.  
  
“Don’t push your luck,” the stranger said. The fingers flexed around his throat. Not enough to cut off his air, but enough to be a warning. “The consequences won’t be pleasant if you do.”  
  
Noctis wanted to snap back, kick this man in the balls, headbutt him in the face, _anything_ , but he was still so tired. Even lashing out the way he did had revealed how heavy his limbs were, how weak he felt.  
  
When was the last time he had eaten anything? How long had he been strapped to this bed with some IV attached to his arm pumping _god_ knew what into his system?  
  
He would rip it out if he could.  
  
“Why am I here?” Noctis murmured. “What do you want?”  
  
The stranger chuckled. “You’re very inquisitive considering your current predicament.” The hand pulled away from his throat and the presence moved back, shrinking further away into the darkness. “You needn’t concern yourself with such matters, anyway.”  
  
Another white flash. Noctis flinched and closed his eyes, once again blinded from the light, and he didn’t open them again.  
  
He tried to force down the sense of dread creeping up through him, the hopelessness, the fear that he wouldn’t actually make it out of here alive.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
He had seen horror movies with Prompto before. Movies where people were kidnapped and taken prisoner. They were usually women, gorgeous young things who looked good even when they were covered in dirt and sweat and blood, and were often held captive by some deranged murderer, constantly fighting for their lives until they outsmarted their enemy and made their glorious, if bittersweet, escape.  
  
It didn’t work like the movies.  
  
It wasn’t as if there was some turn of events, some random occurrence that would aid him in escaping his restraints on the bed so he could get out of the room. It wasn’t as if he had some constant supply of energy that helped him to keep going and to lash out at his captor. His magic still wouldn’t work either, otherwise he’d already be cutting his way out of his straps and making a break for it.  
  
After the way he lashed out, the stranger had thrown off Noctis’s sneakers and secured his ankles to the bed. Trying to slip them both, and his wrists, out of the cuffs was useless, only succeeded in chafing the skin and pulling at his muscles until they hurt.  
  
He couldn’t see anything that could help him, not even when the stranger would come in and take his pictures with the flash lighting up the room.  
  
He was just so fucking _helpless_ , and he had never been more frustrated.  
  
He hated those movies now, for making escape look so possible, like it was a guarantee just because he was the innocent victim of some strange man with a camera. Like it was an unspoken rule that the good guys _always_ won in the end.  
  
The movies glossed over a lot of it too. It felt like he hadn’t washed in so long. His hair must have been beyond dirty by this point and he was aware of it every time he moved. He was still wearing the same clothes he had been kidnapped in. He hadn’t been able to brush his teeth this whole time.  
  
Vanity was such a stupid thing to have in this situation, but he felt disgusting and self-conscious anyway.  
  
At least he didn’t seem to need to use the bathroom at all. He guessed a distinct lack of food and liquids would do that to a person.  
  
But then what the hell was being fed into his arm, if not nutrients of some kind, or _something_ that would help keep him alive? Wouldn’t nutrients, even through an IV, still have his body working normally? He certainly didn’t feel hungry or thirsty anymore. And yet he felt no natural urges whatsoever. So how was he still alive if he wasn’t being given anything to help his body get what it needed?  
  
He guessed it was a good thing, whatever it was. He doubted this stranger would let him out of his restraints for that, and at least he didn’t have the added humiliation of being forced to go where he was.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
Time, like before, no longer held any meaning. Whenever he managed to sleep, he had no idea how long it was for, whether it was for minutes or hours or even days. He still didn’t know how long it had been since he was taken. A week, maybe? Just under? Just over? He couldn’t _tell_ and it was frustrating.  
  
When the stranger came to visit him again, he brought something with him. Wheels scraped along the floor, something rattled, things banged around. Noctis jerked in his restraints, shifting on the bed. His heart suddenly felt like it was in his throat, his blood running cold. He had just been getting used to this new situation and now here it was suddenly changing on him. Again.  
  
It made the world seem unstable. Unable to be trusted. He couldn’t relax knowing that things could be - and _would_ be - so easily flipped around.  
  
More noises. He had no idea what to make of them, what they could be. It sounded like metal and plastic, it sounded almost _ordinary_ , like he should know what the stranger was doing. And how could he even see to do any of this anyway? Even when the door opened, there was no extra light coming in. Nothing but those camera flashes had broken through the darkness so far, so, what, did this guy have night vision or something?  
  
More bangs, things being tossed around. Small mutters. Squeaking wheels moved closer to the bed.  
  
Then the flick of a switch, and Noctis’s vision turned blindingly white.  
  
The stinging in his eyes and head was sharp and harsh. It drilled right through his skull. Noctis kept his face turned away, his eyes squeezed shut as he waited for it to pass. The stranger seemed to pay no attention to him, carrying on as if everything was fine.  
  
Eventually, Noctis found the courage to open his eyes a little, heart pounding in his chest. It wasn’t dark anymore. Parts of the room were lit up with a constant stream of light instead of those brief disorientating flashes, and he could take his time looking around. The room looked as abandoned and dirty as it had done before, although he could see just _how_ dirty it was now. The place looked old, as if it hadn’t been touched in years, maybe decades.  
  
There was still a drip stand next to the bed, with an apparently fresh bag of clear liquid being pumped into him. He dreaded to think what it could be.  
  
The stranger was on his right. Noctis bit his lip, rolling his head over a little in that direction, keeping his eyes squinted against the light.  
  
He didn’t know _what_ he had expected, really. He probably would have felt surprised no matter what he saw. Still, he blinked up at the man’s shape, taking him in. He seemed so tall, broad shouldered, strange red hair curling around his head, and when he glanced over in his direction, Noctis finally got a glimpse of his face.  
  
He didn’t—he didn’t _look_ like someone who would kidnap people. He looked like—hell, Noctis didn’t know what he looked like. A teacher maybe, a doctor, a scientist, a businessman, he could have been anything really. He just didn’t look like someone who would do _this_ , who would hold another person prisoner.  
  
Then again, looks were deceiving weren’t they? Most days Noctis didn’t even look like a prince.  
  
The light seemed more like a spotlight with how bright it felt shining down on him, and the shape and look of it reminded him of dentists and doctors offices. He had to wonder just where this man was getting this equipment from, and _how_ \- he doubted they were cheap.  
  
Next to the light was a video camera, mounted on a tripod. Pointing directly at him.  
  
Noctis clenched his jaw as he stared at it, then looked away. He thought back to the flashes - which were, undoubtedly now, from a camera - and he shivered.  
  
Why was this man taking pictures and making videos of him? Was it some sort of sick collection he had? Did he have a whole bunch of photos and videos back in his home, of Noctis and of whoever else he might have taken before? Was it a black market kind of thing, was he selling them to others who would get some sort of weird kick out of them?  
  
Was he—  
  
Was he sending them to Noctis’s father?  
  
It was a horrifying thought, the idea that his dad might be seeing him like _this_ , tied down and weak, useless, in desperate need of a shower. But, at the same time, it gave him a spark of hope. Because if his dad was receiving pictures and videos of him, then that meant the Crownsguard would be seeing them too. Maybe they could find clues that he couldn’t. Maybe they could figure out where he was and come rescue his ass already.  
  
Or maybe they were all just as helpless, stuck watching their prince become nothing but a pathetic mess simply from being locked away in the dark.  
  
He looked around the room as the stranger continued with whatever he was doing. It was the same as the other room he had been in; there weren’t any windows, the few vents he could see were too small and too high up to be of any use, and the only door was a heavy, solid thing that was as far away from him as it could get.  
  
But it was clearly unlocked right now if his captor was here. If he could just get out of the restraints, if he could push the man away and make a run for it—  
  
He tried to pull his wrists out of the cuffs, fighting back a grimace at the sting and pull against his skin, but it was useless. They were too tight, and his muscles felt far too weak anyway.  
  
He let his hands fall to the bed, dropped his head back in frustration.  
  
“What do you want?” Noctis murmured after a moment. He side-eyed the man, staring at his back, but he couldn’t see what he was doing.  
  
“We’ve been over this before, Noctis,” the stranger answered. “You needn’t concern yourself with anything like that.”  
  
A chill ran through him. This wasn’t a good sign. “How do you know my name?”  
  
“Oh, I know _all_ about you,” the man turned a little then, sent him a smile over his shoulder, eyes hooded. He began to move, pocketing what looked like a phone as he turned around and stepped closer to the bed, and Noctis could see what was there behind him now.  
  
There was a small metal cart standing there, and some of the rattling noises from before made sense now. There were various objects arranged on top of it; a camera, boxes of suture thread, boxes of gauze, scissors of varying sizes, medical and surgical tools—and Noctis felt that dread again, felt it slither down into his skin and through every vein, leaving him dizzy and nauseous.  
  
This couldn't be what he thought it was.  
  
He looked up, met the stranger’s eyes, took in his faint, amused smile, and Noctis shook his head. “No,” he said, trying to sound strong and firm and sure of himself.  
  
The man raised his eyebrows, glanced over at the tools on the cart. “No?” he echoed, giving Noctis that smile again, that awful, _awful_ smile. “Whatever do you mean?”  
  
“I mean _no_!” Noctis yelled. He pulled at his restraints again, jerked his legs and arms about as much as he could, trying to get at least one of them to slip out. He tried using his weight to tip the bed over but it didn't so much as budge.  
   
When the stranger stepped closer, he tried to pull his body away, shouting, “Get the fuck away from me! Get—”  
  
He saw a black stick. It touched his side, over his t-shirt, and his entire body locked into place against his will. He could hear himself crying out, past the clicking noises and the blood rushing in his head. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t escape from it, and _fuck_ it hurt, shocks running through him, crawling into every vein and muscle and bone until it felt like he was burning on the inside, like he would combust from it.  
  
When it stopped, his body fell back into the bed, limp and useless as he tried to catch his breath. Fuck, he didn’t think stun batons were supposed to _hurt_ like that. Was it a modified version, maybe? It wasn’t normal, he knew that much. It couldn’t be, not with the way his heart was still thudding against his chest, the way his body still shook a little.  
  
The man was coming back, large scissors in hand. Noctis squirmed as he came closer, his skin crawling as the blades were brought to his jeans. “What the _fuck_ —” he bit out. “ _Don’t_ —”  
  
“Save your breath, will you,” the man said. “It would be terribly naive of you to think talking your way out of this was ever a possibility. I have a job to do, after all.”  
  
He began cutting at the leg of his jeans, upwards from his ankle, and Noctis saw no choice but to remain still. He clenched his hands, gritted his teeth together, wanting nothing more than to kick this fucker in the balls, but he didn’t dare risk the injury the scissors could cause him. He glanced at the video camera again, then quickly looked away.  
  
God, if his father really _would_ be seeing this, if he would watch him in his humiliation as he was stripped down and—fuck, he didn’t want to even think about what might be coming after this, or about his dad seeing how weak he was.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut. If only he could get away. If only he was stronger. If only, if only, if only.  
  
It didn’t take long for his jeans to be ripped away from him, exposing his legs to the cold air. Left only in his t-shirt and his underwear, he felt exposed in a way that had his stomach rolling, but he clenched his jaw and kept silent. He refused to show a reaction.  
  
Although it was a little hard to do so when the man exchanged his scissors for a dagger, even harder when he removed the video camera from its tripod and brought it over. He held it close, filming Noctis’s face as he brushed the sharp tip of the blade along the skin under his eye.  
  
Noctis froze, fingertips digging into the bed until they hurt. The slightest movement and that thing could jab into him, leave him with half of his vision. He wouldn't do it, would he? He wouldn't, he wouldn't.  
  
But it didn’t jab him in the eye. It dragged downwards along his cheek, hard enough to sting a little but not hard enough to break the skin. When it trailed past his jaw and scraped along his throat, hesitating there, Noctis swallowed thickly and tried to breathe calmly through his nose.  
  
It was just intimidation. That was all it was. This guy was clearly trying to make him nervous, trying to get under his skin. Trying to get a reaction out of him.  
  
Or it was all for show for that stupid fucking camera.  
  
The dagger disappeared from his throat. Instead, there was a hand on the bottom of his t-shirt, shoving it upwards until his chest was bared, and Noctis clenched his jaw again to avoid reacting.  
  
But there was no toying with him this time, no hesitation, no time to think. The tip of the dagger dug into the skin of his chest, harsh stinging that transformed into burning when the blade was dragged downwards. He could feel warmth and wetness. Noctis breathed harshly through nose, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to fight back any noises as it happened again, and again, and again, as his skin was torn open, ripped apart and blood trickled down his sides.  
  
It was just pain. Just physical pain, that was all. He’d had a lot worse than this anyway.  
  
“Your stoicism is admirable for a boy your age,” the stranger said. He looked amused. He placed the dagger down, instead holding up the stun baton once more. “However, I’m afraid I’m going to need just a little bit of your cooperation with this.”  
  
The baton touched his skin and electricity shot through him like a knife. His head was thrown back, muscles clenching once again, a strangled cry being ripped from him. His heart pounded in his ears, blood rushing through his head.  
  
“That’s good,” the man said, once it was over. “But surely you can do better than that.”  
  
He was pointing the baton at one of his fresh wounds, activating it and letting it hover above him so Noctis could see the sparks of electricity inches away from him. He tried not to react, but dread rushed through him anyway, cold like ice, and he shook his head. “No—”  
  
But it was too late. The baton touched one of his wounds, and it _burned_. Noctis couldn’t fight back his scream this time, and he couldn’t escape it either, couldn’t pull himself away, his body already locked into place against his will. His heart was pounding frantically this time, his vision came in and out, his ears rang.  
  
“There, that should do it.”  
  
The clicking of the baton stopped as it was pulled away, but Noctis’s body was still shaking as he fell back into the bed, his wound still burning. He gasped for breath, hating the small moan that came out from him.  
  
“Thank you, Noctis, that’s much more cooperative of you,” the stranger said. He sounded so calm, so casual about it all. When Noctis glanced up at him, he looked strangely cold and professional. Detached, as if this was a mere job he had to get on with.  
  
He turned to Noctis and leaned down, taking hold of his chin with one hand. Fingers gripping his cheeks and turning his head this way and that, like a doll to play with, that damn video camera pointing in his face once again.  
  
Noctis flinched when he realised the man’s fingers were wet and he was smearing blood on the sides of his face. He stared up at him as the hand pulled away, ignoring the camera and its lens staring right at him as he murmured, “Why are you doing this?”  
  
The man smiled a little. “Again with the questions,” he said. “You’re certainly a curious little thing, aren’t you?”  
  
“Think I have every right to be if I'm gonna die here,” he muttered. He was surprised at how his voice _didn’t_ tremble the way he had expected it to, how there wasn’t really any emotion with the words. “ _Are_ you going to kill me?”  
  
The man raised an eyebrow. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think? Why would I do something like that?” he chuckled, almost to himself. “You would be of little use to me dead.”  
  
Noctis frowned. “Who _are_ you?”  
  
The man paused, then lowered the camera, fixing him with another amused look as he said, “You can call me Ardyn, seeing as you cease to shut up with that particular question. Happy now?”  
  
Noctis waited, but he didn’t seem to want to elaborate any further. “That it? No surname? No—”  
  
“That’s all you need to know,” the man, _Ardyn_ , said. “Now, come on, smile for the camera.”  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
It was mostly the knife he used, but Noctis wished it was _only_ the knife he used.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
And so it went. Noctis would be left in the dark for god knew how long, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and pretending like he wasn’t going crazy, like it didn’t feel like there were eyes in every corner. Pretending like the world wasn’t actually spinning and drifting away from him, like his body didn’t feel numb and beyond his control.  
  
And then Ardyn would come, he would turn the lights on and he would shove his cameras in Noctis’s face and take his pictures or film his videos. He would get his tools and decide which part of Noctis’s body would be useful today. Sometimes he sewed the injuries back up, and Noctis would grit his teeth at the sensation, clenching his fingers, trying to remain as still as possible.  
  
At some point, Ardyn decided his wrists should be moved. Noctis jerked in surprise when they were unstrapped, but he jolted into action. He sat up, trying to push Ardyn, shove him away, but a wave of vertigo hit him like a truck as soon as he was upright. It made his head spin, made him want to throw up even though his stomach was empty.  
  
And Ardyn was a lot stronger than he was, slamming him back down on the bed, ignoring the way he tried to fight back. His wrists were strapped down again, his hands now on either side of his head. The position pulled at the IV in his arm, made it sting a little, and he felt more vulnerable this way, more open. His chest heaved with it, he shuddered, but Ardyn merely smiled at the whole display.  
  
“There,” he said. His fingers brushed along Noctis’s forehead, pushed his hair back a little. He had the video camera again. “Now your arms won’t be in the way. How helpful of you.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Noctis spat.  
  
The hand moved down quickly, wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air completely, and Noctis tried thrashing again, tried getting away, except he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_.  
  
Ardyn held onto him until his vision was nearly black, until he was on the verge of passing out, and then he finally let go. He moved his hand back up to hold Noctis’s jaw, turning his head to look up at him as he caught his breath back. Noctis glared up at him.  
  
“Well this is certainly a good sign,” Ardyn muttered, almost to himself, eyes curious behind his camera.  
  
When he let go and walked away, Noctis stayed limp for a long time, shivering at the memory of that expression.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
Noctis stared up into the darkness, and he thought about his friends.  
  
What was Prompto doing right now? Was he okay? Was he carrying on with his life, playing his video games, improving his photography, working his part-time job? Did he even know Noctis was gone?  
  
What was Ignis doing? What was Gladio doing? They had to know he was gone, there was no possible way that fact could have escaped either of them - but what were they doing? Were they carrying on with their own lives, forced to continue with their duties during his absence? Or were they trying to look for him?  
  
What was his _dad_ doing? Was _he_ okay? Was he being strong, carrying on without Noctis?  
  
He thought about the pictures again, the video camera pointed towards the bed he was strapped down to, taking in every little thing Ardyn did to him, and he _prayed_ that those images weren’t being sent to his dad.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
He tried to hold out for as long as he could.  
  
The hood over his head was tied tightly around his throat with scratchy rope that made it uncomfortable whenever he swallowed. There wasn’t much space inside and the material fell over his face, smothering him in a gentle yet overwhelming way. Noctis grit his teeth and tried to get through it, refused to let Ardyn get under his skin the way he clearly wanted.  
  
But he couldn’t.  
  
The air was hot and stifled and hard to pull in. Could he actually lose oxygen in this thing? Could he suffocate? The idea alone was enough to have panic rushing through him, his heart kicking up in pace, sweat breaking out on his skin. His hair stuck to his face and his chest heaved with every breath.  
  
He hated it, he hated it, he hated it. He was back in the dark again. The light was right behind the material, but he had been smothered away from it, denied it, and he could hear Ardyn walking around, he could hear metal noises and the clicks of his camera, and then the unmistakable noise of the stun baton.  
  
He tried to ride out the first wave of electricity shooting through him, but couldn’t help the way his hands clenched and the way he cried out into the hood.  
  
The second one was enough to break him. The air felt so much thinner, like he could hardly pull it in. Beads of sweat were rolling down his skin and he hated how pathetic he sounded, heaving in sobbing breaths as he shouted, “Take it off! Take the hood off! I can’t breathe. I can’t _breathe_! I can’t—”  
  
Surprisingly, the hood came off quickly enough, the spotlight burning into his eyes as he heaved and stared up at the ceiling.  
  
He didn’t realise he was still begging mindlessly until he felt the hand on the side of his head, resting against his sweaty, dirty hair, thumb brushing up and down against his temple. Noctis stared up at Ardyn silently, gasping for breath, his lungs burning, his head swimming.  
  
Regret ran through him instantly. He had broken so _easily_ , had begged quickly and without shame, when he had promised himself he would be as strong as he could. But he had broken, and now they were both aware of just how painfully weak he was.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
Somehow, it wasn’t as bad as being choked with a piece of rope.  
  
The material was thin and scratchy and it cut into him, and Ardyn only pulled on it harder, let it tighten a little more, and Noctis was choking this time, fingers twitching beside his head, shifting on the bed though he couldn’t get away.  
  
He just had to get through it. Ardyn’s eyes were cold and unfeeling, if a little curious, but he had said he didn’t want Noctis dead. So that meant it would end. It always ended. He just had to get through it.  
  
Even with that damn stun baton touching him again, even with the way the pain seemed amplified and his head roared loudly with the blood rushing through it and his lungs burned and blood began to make this throat wet. Even with the way he couldn’t scream although his body was trying to, making choked, pitiful noises that only made him feel weaker.  
  
He just had to get through it.  
  
Before he could black out, the rope ripped away from him and Noctis coughed and retched, choking on the sudden rush of air and the lingering feeling of his throat being crushed. He found he didn’t even have the energy to move anymore, so he stared up at the ceiling as he caught his breath back.  
  
“Very good, Noctis,” Ardyn said gently. “That’s very good.”  
  
Noctis closed his eyes.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
Ardyn changed something with the IV. He swapped the clear bag of fluid for a new one, as he usually did when the other one ran empty, but, after a while, Noctis realised there was something different about this one. It made him feel dizzy. His ears rang, he found his heart was pounding in his chest, his skin crawled with anxiety.  
  
He was left alone for a while, in the dark like usual, except it _didn’t_ feel like usual this time. Because he thought he could hear things lurking there in the dark with him, scurrying around and crawling along the walls, hovering right there above him, breathing in his face.  
  
Something screamed at him, a distorted shrill directly in his ear, and Noctis flinched away from it, squeezed his eyes shut. Something cried out on his other side. There was a cackle near his head, and he had no idea how something could sound both amused and like it was a dying animal.  
  
It was just his mind playing tricks on him, that was all. Like back in that small room, with the cat and the bugs and the figure. It was just the darkness making him go crazy. None of it was real.  
  
And then - hours, days, weeks later, it felt like an eternity - Ardyn came back, he turned the lights on, he was an actual person instead of these monsters surrounding him, and Noctis almost found himself _clinging_ to the idea that he wasn’t alone anymore.  
  
And when Ardyn made a show of hurting him for the camera, Noctis didn’t fight back.  
  
It all blended into one; the screaming, the fuzziness, the anxiety that there was some _presence_ in the room that wanted to rip his chest open at any second. But Ardyn and his pain pierced through all of that, it was something tangible he could focus on and hold onto. It grounded him, so that the other stuff could drift far away until his head was full of nothing but white noise and static.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
“Please,” he said, when it was over again, and he hated himself the moment the word left him. Noctis kept his eyes lowered, all too aware of the body standing close to him, and he tried to reach his fingers out for him despite his restraints. “Don’t leave me in the dark anymore.”  
  
When he looked up, Ardyn was smiling.  
  
“As you wish, Your Highness,” he said.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
He half-wished he was in the dark again.  
  
Because maybe then he wouldn’t see what the shrieks actually belonged to. He wouldn’t see them moving around the room at an unnatural speed, he wouldn’t see them climbing up the walls in jerky movements.  
  
If it was dark, then he wouldn’t see their bodies. Almost corpse-like with how grey they looked, oozing black liquid, their limbs twisted in unnatural ways like they were being stretched into other shapes and forms.  
  
And he wouldn’t see their faces and their wide open mouths and their sharp teeth.  
  
“It’s not real,” Noctis murmured, and he closed his eyes, ignoring the sounds around him. “It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.”  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
When he woke after another fitful bout sleep, he was no longer strapped down to the bed and the door to the room was wide open.  
  
Noctis could only stare for a moment. That was important, the door being open and his arms and legs being free of their restraints. That was important, but it took him a moment to remember why. He had to delve past the heaviness and the dizziness, the way everything was swimming.  
  
Escape. It meant that he could escape.  
  
Ardyn was nowhere to be seen. Noctis couldn’t hear him nearby either, but then again it was hard to hear anything past his own heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, the ringing in his head. He felt cold and sweaty, his skin crawled and, when he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his limbs were heavy and uncooperative.  
  
Noctis looked down at his arm. The needle was no longer inside him; instead, there was only a bruise and a tiny puncture hole left behind.  
  
The video camera was gone as well. Usually Ardyn just left it in the room with him, sitting on its tripod, but it was no longer in sight. The metal cart with the— _instruments_ —that was gone too.  
  
What was going on? Where had Ardyn gone?  
  
It didn’t matter.  
  
Struggling to get to his feet, he fell off the bed instead, landing heavy on his side, and he thought he might have cried out except it was hard to hear past all the noise in his head. He felt too _slow_ , like he couldn’t keep up. The world tilted back and forth, side to side, and it made him nauseous.  
  
It didn’t _matter_. He had to get out of that door. He had to get away.  
  
The walls looked like they were moving. Colours danced in his vision and he blinked them away. Pushing himself to his feet was the worst thing he had ever forced himself through, and he stumbled to the side once he was upright, resting his hands on the bed for balance.  
  
God, but _why_ did he feel so awful? Was it that stuff always being pumped into him? Was it because he had been lying down for too long? It would be just his luck, to have escape so close to him and yet have his body too weak to do anything about it.  
  
Something brushed against his back. A cold presence breathing down his neck, waiting to tear him to shreds. Noctis pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to ignore the _fear_ , waiting for the thing to go away.  
  
He needed to move. He needed to get away from those monsters, those invisible ones, the ones that watched him from every corner of the room with hungry eyes, the ones that always seemed so ready to pounce at any second. Even now, he could feel them, like they were surrounding him, and he needed to get away.  
  
And preferably before those _other_ ones made an appearance too. The strange, grey figures that clambered all over everything, laughing and shrieking as they went.  
  
Noctis stumbled towards the door, leaning heavy on the frame as he peered out. He had to pause to breathe for a moment, to collect himself. It was pitch black outside the room and it was overwhelming. He took another breath, then looked back at the spotlight that shone down on the bed. It was on wheels, so that meant it could be dragged along, but for how far?  
  
He stepped over to it, wrapping a hand around the pole, and he pulled. It made an awful racket as he dragged it towards the doorway, every creak and scrape cutting through the heavy silence and echoing around the room, and Noctis winced as every sound seemed to slide up along his skin.  
  
He didn’t know what the spotlight was plugged into, but the wire stretched far enough that it could stand just outside the door. He manoeuvred it around with both hands, pointing it to the left and then to the right. He seemed to be in a corridor, and it was as abandoned as the room he was kept in. The windows were boarded up so heavily there wasn’t any sort of light trickling in. He had to wonder if there even _was_ any light, if there was anything else out there, something other than darkness and dust and monsters.  
  
If he found something heavy enough, then he could smash those boards up until the windows were revealed. But that would mean causing too much noise, which could bring Ardyn back, or those _monsters_ , and neither possibility sounded good.  
  
God, if only the spotlight could be brought with him. He could leave it where it was for now, lighting his way down some of the corridor, and he could try and find something else that would help. If there wasn’t anything, then he could come right back and find a way to drag the light with him.  
  
It sounded like a decent enough plan, especially when he wasn’t sure how long he had. So he set the spotlight up, had it pointing to the right, wincing at the way it could only shine so far before the darkness swallowed up the rest of the corridor.  
  
He clung to the wall as he walked, practically leaning on it, using a hand to keep himself steady and upright. His heart was still pounding in his chest. His skull felt far too small, heavy and ringing with the pressure. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, his jaw too slack, his eyes too heavy, and it was like he could fall asleep at any moment.  
  
He couldn’t. He had to keep going. He just had to get through it.  
  
There was an open doorway to his right, not far from his own room, some of the light trickling in. Noctis stared across at it, not sure what he was seeing at first, that strange curled up shape on the floor, extending further in and disappearing behind the wall. Maybe it was all the cotton in his head, the way he was dizzy and felt like he was about to keel over any second, making it hard to process anything.  
  
It wasn’t until he stepped closer on unsteady legs, and when the smell hit him, that he finally realised what it was.  
  
There was a hand on the floor. Still, limp, a strange colour.  
  
Noctis held his breath against the smell as he stumbled to the door. He already knew what he was going to see, his heart pounding loudly in his ears for a different reason now, but he was drawn to it anyway. Like morbid curiosity, a need for confirmation.  
  
There was a dead man, just inside the doorway, slumped down against the wall. Ginger hair tied back, revealing his grey face tainted with bruise like marks and trails of black ink, and the smell, the _smell_ —  
  
Noctis retched, stumbling backwards and away from the doorway, a hand pressed to his mouth. He forced himself to keep moving, stumbling further down the corridor, nausea threatening to overwhelm him.  
  
Something in front of him shrieked. Garbled and distorted. Inhuman. Shadowed figures rushed along up ahead of him, from one doorway to another. Noctis stumbled in surprise, gasping, and his feet collided with a pile of discarded boxes he hadn’t noticed in front of him. He went down, palms smacking the floor and pain jolting up along his wrists.  
  
“Oh dear,” a voice said.  
  
Noctis tried to speak, but he could only moan, a slurred noise, his jaw still not working properly. Footsteps were coming closer, walking around him. Noctis tried to push himself to his feet again, to run, to get away, from that body and from _him_ , from him—  
  
Hands grabbed Noctis, hauling him up by his grubby t-shirt, his moans of protest ignored. He was pushed back against the wall, leaned against it, held upright in a strong unforgiving grip. He reached his own fingers out, gripped onto a thick coat, and he looked up at the face before him, trying to blink past the fuzziness, the way his vision swam.  
  
“I was wondering where you’d ran off to,” Ardyn said gently, smiling. “Sedation wearing off now, is it?”  
  
Noctis moaned, tried to turn away, nearly fell over instead.  
  
Ardyn’s hands caught him, one settling on his waist. “Ah, careful now,” he murmured. His other hand moved upwards, cupped Noctis’s jaw, and Noctis could only hold onto his wrist, his limbs heavy and weak.  
  
“You must be careful,” Ardyn chuckled. “You don’t want to have an accident, do you?”  
  
Like that dead man? Was that what had happened to him? Noctis found his eyes drifting to that open door, shivering at the fact that someone was _right there_ , maybe a previous victim of Ardyn’s, a preview of what was to come for Noctis. Would he end up like that too?  
  
He wouldn’t be able to escape. Not like this, not with Ardyn so much stronger than he was, not when he could barely hold himself up. He almost wanted to sob from it, frustration making his eyes sting, but he was just so _tired_. Too tired to even cry.  
  
Another shriek, from further down the corridor. Something moved, person-shaped, crawling along the floor in jerky movements, disappearing into another room. Noctis heard himself gasp, quickly turning his face into Ardyn’s chest, clutching at him, trying to hide away. Those things, those _things_ , he hated them, hated the power they had over him, and he wanted them to _stop_ , please—  
  
“What’s happening?” he tried to ask, but it mostly came out slurred, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.  
  
Ardyn chuckled, his hands running through his filthy hair, holding Noctis to him. “Why, whatever are you talking about, Noctis?” he said, his voice low and soothing. It rumbled through his chest, through Noctis’s ear and into his head. It wasn’t comforting. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m here now.”  
  
Noctis clenched his fingers into Ardyn’s clothes and squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
Something rumbled beneath him. His cheeks and arms and legs felt cool where they were exposed, and he shivered, trying to curl into himself to find some sort of warmth. He’d always felt cold in that room, but it had never been like this.  
  
Other sounds were fading in, although he couldn’t quite make anything of them except the music, some cheerful jazz sounding thing, quiet but nearby. When he was able to crack his eyes open, he was staring up at the night sky, clear and vast with the stars blinking down on him. There were other shapes, darker things that he couldn’t properly make out, broken up only by the bright streetlights that nearly pierced his eyes every time they went past.  
  
Noctis frowned, tried to make sense of it, but his head was still a little fuzzy, and it had been so long since he had seen anything except dusty, dilapidated walls that it was hard to actually process what he was seeing. It was like staring at a photograph. It was real, but not somewhere he could _be_.  
  
“Awake again, I see,” a voice said.  
  
Noctis moved his eyes upwards, nearly up into his head, and he saw Ardyn sat next to him, his hands loosely clutching a steering wheel. Noctis glanced around. He was lying in a convertible, curled up on the front seat, his head pressed up against Ardyn’s hip.  
  
So that was what the rumbling was. It was a car engine. Ardyn was taking him somewhere.  
  
He wanted to get up, but his arms were sore and weak when he tried to push himself upright. He looked down at his wrists, where the skin was bruised and chafed, but finally free of restraints. How long had he been in that room, strapped to the bed while Ardyn tormented him? Where was he taking him now? Back to safety? Was it over?  
  
Or were they just moving somewhere else? Maybe Ardyn had been caught. Maybe they were running.  
  
His heart was pounding again, smacking against his chest, and he swallowed against the cold anxiety rising up and through him. “Where are we going?” he murmured. He had to force the words out, wincing at how hoarse and wrecked his voice was.  
  
“You needn’t worry yourself about any of that,” Ardyn said.  
  
Noctis _really_ doubted that.  
  
Ardyn’s hand pulled away from the steering wheel, settling over Noctis’s eyes, covering his world in darkness, and Noctis’s breath hitched in his throat. “Sleep,” Ardyn said.  
  
Noctis slept.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://ivorydice.tumblr.com/) at tumblr.


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